My mother-in-law, Maxine, was one of the most gracious women I ever met. I cannot believe she’s been gone since 2009. She was around for many years of the mayhem with my mom, Sue, and despite being shocked and overwhelmed at times, Maxine was always a soft landing spot, reminding me that Sue’s lack of manners and inability to contain the chaos within was a function of her dysfunction. Maxine’s armchair diagnosis of Sue? Priding herself on being raised well, Maxine suspected Sue was never ‘taught better’, which was sweet, but it also reflected the genteel social norms of her generation and the compulsions about secret-keeping related to mental health.
Maxine knew every social grace and had manners about manners. Raised in an affluent family of entrepreneurs and savvy business tycoons, her father was a beacon of industry, 1900’s style – purchasing real estate up and down the main street of their town. You might enjoy this post about the haberdashery store they owned. Hats…refinement…affluence. A social class that was a world away from Sue’s reality.
I’ve also written about Maxine’s family home (a stunning Queen Anne) and the rarified and privileged life of the inhabitants. They were good people, but mental health issues lurked behind the heavy drapes. It wasn’t until hubby and I were married for several years that I learned about the tortured artists – musicians and painters – in their family tree. Some who succumbed to their demons through suicide and others who drifted away. Literally. As if the world itself and the competition to succeed in a well-noted family was too much to bear.
I wish Maxine could pop back for a day or two so I could fill in the storylines. Being the recipient of her treasured items – books and family scrapbooks – helped me piece together some details but questions persist. The more I uncover, the more curious I become – longing to understand their stories, torment and secrets.
At one time, the family owned enough reading material in the form of first editions and heirloom copies of poetry, prose and fiction that they helped to open the first library in their small town. Somewhere a plaque is dedicated to hubby’s great grandfather, acknowledging his philanthropy and foresight.
When I became a member of the family, the bookshelves flanking my in-law’s fireplace held Maxine’s family heirlooms. Old photographs, decoy ducks carved by her father, her mother’s beloved vases and artwork painted by Maxine herself. What else? Small stacks of faded books, notable because of their petite size and scale. I know very little about rare and antique books, but I suppose Maxine’s treasures qualified. First editions of “Alice in Wonderland” and “Uncle Tom’s Cabin”. “Poems” by Whittier.
Each book is delicate in size. Just a handful. With family names written inside, including the dates upon which they were passed from one family member to another…dates starting with 1890 and progressing through the 1950’s. Charming and haunting scribbles and doodles are preserved in a few volumes. Remnants of faraway fingertips that once poured over pages, perhaps under a looming oak tree or from a sunny porch swing.
Today five of these precious books sit on a mantle in our house. I glance at them every now and again and think about Maxine. Her family, her refinement, their secrets. I think about how life has changed since those sweet volumes were printed. When I passed by this morning, I realized part of their appeal for me has always been their size. Petite. Like Maxine. I’ve always had a fondness for small books. Mighty but powerful and portable? I dunno – but one of my favorite small volumes is the topic of my post on Heart of the Matter today. A gift of inspiration from a dear friend about storytelling. Take a look if you have time.
Maxine’s books and the pause today? I think I was supposed to have a moment. As I pulled one of the Whittier books from the mantel to gingerly thumb through, the title page jumped out at me. Perhaps I’m more aware and nostalgic because I’ll be in the historic “Printer’s Row” neighborhood in Chicago on September 9 for LitFest? I smiled when I noticed the book I held was printed in 1907…in Chicago…on the exact street that’s home to the LitFest (see pic above). Dearborn Street. The printers – Donohue, Henneberry & Co were one of the establishments that made Printer’s Row synonymous with books, once upon a time. I figure Maxine was sending a message. Received, dear one – received!
-Vicki ❤
Victoria Ponders 
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